


Conversations to No One (you)

by aeroport_art



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Poetic, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-05
Updated: 2007-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeroport_art/pseuds/aeroport_art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, the little crazy, talks to Dean in his head.  Takes place during the Stanford years, in drabble format.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I.

**Author's Note:**

> Stream-of-consciousness. I was listening to Chk Chk Chk while writing so if some of it sounds familiar *cough*scheissemerde*cough*, you know why.

In hallways and shadows, by the doors and floors there’s water  
There’s black water and it looks like blood  
There’s reflections of my face but it doesn’t look like me,  
It looks like you which is  
Ridiculous because nobody could ever tell, nobody ever said  
 _“You two look so alike”_

This didn’t please you, Dean. You were scared that our different faces different places somehow  
Allowed us to ( _fuck_ )

Yeah, I said it.

\-----

I met a girl, Dean. She’s spun fairy floss and soft in all the right spots, I never did get over ( _the way you felt under my hands_ )  
Foreign, alien landscapes of scars and scores of hurt that  
Never found their way into her light.

I met a girl, she’s a perfect girl for the perfect boy. We’ll graduate from our perfect school to have the perfect babies with button-noses and butter skin, the _perfect life_ —

You know me better than that.

I met a girl, Dean, and it’s all wrong.

\-----

You think I like to think about you, Dean? You think I like to scrawl your name in the margins of my Lit notes you think I like to imagine your mouth around this  
( _eight months twelve days ago you chewed this eraser, the indents of your teeth_ )

You think I like to scratch out pencil for fear of losing your saliva?

You think, Dean, you think?

\-----

Ring  
 _Shit— shit, shit shit_  
Scheissescheissescheisse  
Merde, merde

 

Think of all the ways I can say fuck you, Dean.

One: you call and call and call and this is where I smile in glee and say fuck you.  
Two: you call and this is where my voice breaks and I say fuck you.  
Three: you don’t call, you don’t call anymore and I say fuck you, Dean.

 _Fuck you_ , Dean.

\-----

It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s brisk in Palo Alto; you’d be disappointed, California isn’t all beaches n’ babes  
I woke at six AM to the burbles of suburban burb and it’s all a lark, Dean  
There is no sun in California, not today.

I received a Rose Gram during class.  
I thought of all the ways this could be you  
 _You snuck in, Dean! You swooped down in all your costumed glory_ (leather, Dean, the way you smelled in leather!) _and you didn’t take shit from the committee._  
You told them  
“Nothing but the best for my Sammy”

I opened the card and two rows away Jess looked at me and smiled.

I smiled back.  
(you would’ve known the difference)

\----- 

You once said to me _I love you so much Sam, my Sammy_ and I said _I love you too Dean_

You were drunk off your ass and throwing up through lunch the next day but

Don’t think I forgot.  
I never forget, you asshole.

\-----

Never forget the way you sculpted me, hands like God as I  
Spun and spun in place  
You touched me, Dean you tipped your finger in my clay and carved a neck, a lip, a groove  
You touched me and made the way I  
Wake in bed,  
Work a needle,  
Weasle a wheedle

You made the way I  
Burn my knees ( _the taste of come_ )  
Kiss a mouth ( _on my tongue_ )

You made the way I hate to want to love to want to fuck you six ways to heaven  
and back, and that was your mistake.


	2. Act II.

Overhead the clouds are thundering.  
They’re thick grey, mottled wet cotton and hell I’ve  
Lost my key.

Do you remember Dean?  
 _Shrugging shoulders in streams of rain and_  
the way you held me close  
You mouthed mistake when I kissed you (wet lips)  
You choked and said “it’s all wrong”

You said it was wrong but this, _this_ is so right?

Look at me, Dean  
A puppet on strings playing an actor’s role:  
 _A college boy waits at his condo for his girlfriend to return from a sorority party.  
He’s lost his key. Cue soliloquy._

Shall I entertain thoughts Dean, of diamond-lit promises and things borrowed blue?  
A puppet on strings playing an actor’s role  
You would laugh so hard you could cry

It’s wet outside. I’m soaked to the bone and when she comes home,  
I’ll crawl deep inside just to stave off the cold

\-----

Were you there, Dean, oh Dean, were you there?

I dreamed of a whisper, of a cool handed slip of a fist in a glove in  
Your shape

Were you there, Dean, oh _please_ Dean, please tell me right now  
Were you here?

\-----

Jess tells me I ran a fever overnight.

It makes me sick the way you slither into my mind.  
 _My life._ Not yours. _Mine._

\-----

It isn’t something I think about anymore, Dean. It isn’t you filling my mind.  
It isn’t the void of your body, your presence,  
it isn’t the mute gape of your name.  
It isn’t the goose bumps that trail from your memory,  
it isn’t the taste that’s the same.

This is what it is, Dean.  
It’s the supple soft breasts ( _hard scars and flesh_ )  
it's the way S’s roll off of my tongue.  
It’s her touching her clit ( _your limply soft dick_ )  
it's the apple sweet high of her gloss.

( _Vaseline smeared in your tight little anus and you’re scraping, you’re_ begging _for more_ )

It isn’t you filling my mind anymore, it isn’t you anymore, is it.

\-----

In August of autumn I found him.  
His name was Adam and I was his Eve,  
At least for a week night or two.

He had emerald green eyes and a crew cut so short  
He would gel it and spike it in rows.  
He walked with a swagger, this Adam I knew,  
A swagger and denims and boots.

This Adam I found, we had a few rounds, but I swear he looked  
 _Nothing like you._

\-----

When Jess found out she asked, “why?”  
I said, “Never again.”  
She asked, “why?”  
I said, “Because they always want to stick it up your butt.”

This is what I didn’t tell her.  
 _Never again because they’ll fuck you and suck you, they’ll love you until you can’t breathe anymore, you can’t even_ breathe _anymore and it’s like drowning or dying it’s something so awful because when you come out at the other end, they won’t be there with you. And then you may as well be dead, because they’re not there with you._

She nods okay.


	3. Chapter 3

I open the fridge. There’s pudding.

_(a beat.)_

Did you ever think we could have worked?  
 _You once fed me vanilla, glopped on a spork and I missed, your tongue on my nose_

Because I thought we could have worked.  
 _And Dad walked in on your hand on my cheek and you turned it into a black eye that didn’t leave for twelve days._

We could have worked.  
 _When I begged you that month you rolled over and took it up the ass, and you came for me Dean, you came all over my hand_  
(And then you didn’t touch me for another four months.)

I never liked vanilla anyway.

\-----

If you could, you would. That’s what you always said.

 _If I could, I would, Sammy._  
As if I could’ve replied with your dick in my mouth. But this is what I would’ve said:

_Then do it, you asshole._

\-----

I left that day you stood in the kitchen with a milk mustache you hadn’t yet wiped off  
“Dean, you got a little something there” ( _ohgod say something Dean say something ANYTHING_ )

You wiped it off and turned around.

I missed the first bus but by nightfall I was light years  
away from  
you

A grown man crying on public transportation is  
Not a pretty sight.

\-----

_Just when you think you’re okay._

It hits you from nowhere. It hits you like a sucker punch _forty-six trains on a monorail and it’s heading for your soul_ and when you can breathe again, it’s from the puncture wounds in your lungs.

You never did say you were a sweet lover, but the press of your hands ( _my name in your throat_ ) I had hoped.

\-----

_Sam and Dean are waiting in the car._  
          Sam’s hand is on  
                        Dean’s leg jumps and  
                                    Sam whispers  
                                                  **Dean.**

I should be taking notes.

\-----

The history, Dean, think of all the _history_.  
Think of all we had, Dean!  
My first bite Dean, your first stitching  
Our dinners alone in the room  
You started our prank wars (you little whore!) but you know this isn’t what I mean—

(Our _fucks_ Dean  
My first _rimming_ is stained with your spit.  
You swallowed my come Dean, you drank like you’d _die_ Dean, and)

Nothing? Really, everything ( _me_ ) Dean, and still nothing?

\-----

These are the delineations. (I’m in stats. So take a crack.)

Adam wanted me.  
I wanted Adam.

Jess needs me.  
I need ( _require? call for?_ ) Jess.

You ( _said_ ) you loved me.  
I ( _think_ ) I still love you.

Oh, shit. _Shit._

\-----

I went out and bought a ring today. For Jess.  
( _ice bites on your knuckles and your hands on my hips, you_ imprinted _me with your metal-laced grips and I inked them in with ballpoint pen just to know,  
just to prove that you touched me_ )

Her hands are tiny. It can’t even go on my pinky. And you Dean, your blunt calloused fingers, the ring that I bought wouldn’t fit you.

It just wouldn’t fit you.

\-----

_It’s been a long winter, a cold long winter and_  
Even the fog gets it’s turn.  
In little old Pali of this part of Cali the light’s peeked it’s face through the school. 

I’m biking to class. It’s sprinkling sun.

I remember you Dean, I remember your face. Years ago, how you drank up the rays.  
 _Eyes turned upwards and a smile so golden that it made me want to kick you._  
( _I don’t think Dad would have approved of a brotherly kiss and a grope_ )

I’m biking to class and I see kids in the sun, and I wonder if you’re warm in it too.

\-----

Three years six months  
Four days and eight hours, and  
the time it took to take my morning piss  
( _Three look-a-likes six breakdowns four wounds eight thousand curses, and the time it took to pretend_ )

You came back.

You came back, Dean. _Dean._

 

_Fin._


End file.
